


Love in an Elevator

by Ohorikoen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cliche, F/M, Fluff, Heatwave, No Plot/Plotless, Overused trope, PWP, Romance, Smut, Trapped, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 18:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7586074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohorikoen/pseuds/Ohorikoen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly and Sherlock are trapped in an elevator. Can the situation be any more cliché? </p><p>Love in an elevator - Livin' it up when I'm goin' down - Love in an elevator - Lovin' it up 'til I hit the ground</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in an Elevator

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: I don't own Sherlock. A big thank you to my Beta for working out the smut logistics.
> 
> So 2016 is pretty much shit, my 2016 has been super shit, so here is some cliché, overly used trope smut to cheer people up. Hope you enjoy.

"...they said it would probably be another hour. The whole hospital has lost power, but they don't seem too concerned, just a rolling blackout. They said..."

Sherlock knew Molly was talking, could see her mouth moving but he had long ago given up trying to pay attention to what she was saying. He would probably delete it all later anyway. They had already been trapped in the damn elevator for at least half an hour, although it felt more like an eternity to him.

The day had started out so promising. A new case from Lestrade. A strong 8. Maybe even a 9. A 9! Sherlock had dropped by Bart's to check on the autopsy that Molly had performed on Mr. Peterson. He had found her up in the lab and, after sufficient haranguing, had convinced, or rather, gently forced her to accompany him down to the morgue. Everything had been fine until the elevator jerked violently and they were thrown into darkness. The emergency lights came on a short time later and Molly was able to contact someone through the emergency phone, so it wasn't as though people didn't know they were trapped and it wasn't like they were in any immediate danger, but still Sherlock couldn't wait to get the hell out of the elevator.

The reason?

He was in a tiny enclosed, overheated box with the woman he had been fantasizing about for months.

Not that they were true fantasies - Sherlock didn't sit around dreaming about Molly like some randy teenager. No, these imagined encounters all occurred in his mind palace – and maybe sometimes, on occasion – okay, it was all the time - when they were together, his mind would wander and it was impossible for Sherlock not to notice that Molly wasn't the same shy woman he had met 5 years ago when he had first starting working cases for the MET. She had grown so much; had become stronger, more forceful with her opinions. She didn't allow herself to be manipulated by him anymore. Although the changes had been unexpected – she had slapped him after all – he enjoyed the person Molly had become. A more confident version of the kind-hearted, loving woman she had always been.

Still he would never act on these feelings – he would never do anything to or with Molly Hooper. Even though Molly was an adult, had even dated and subsequently dumped a master criminal, and apparently at one time was having quite a lot of sex – she still expected too much from him. She would expect a real relationship. She would expect love.

So Sherlock never crossed the line, of course he still wasn't above flirting when he needed something, and there were some innocent touches (if he was honest, some of the touches were not so innocent in their intentions). The problem was, despite his recent shameful behaviour, Molly still obviously harboured notions of love towards him. For Sherlock to take advantage of the situation would be reprehensible. To use her love for his own base needs would be too much, even for him. So reluctantly, Sherlock kept his distance.

Whatever might be between them would no doubt ruin the real friendship they had just started to cultivate, and then working together would feel awkward and uncomfortable. That was something Sherlock didn't want at all; he really enjoyed working with Molly. However, ever since his return from exile, Sherlock's feelings had become a strange mix of wanting to protect Molly and wanting to be stay away from her forever, which absolutely scared the hell out of him. Because whenever he found himself in the same room with her – like now - he just got hot. And at the moment he was feeling hot both metaphorically and literally. Damn suit.

The overheated oven they were in had forced both of them to remove a few layers of clothing. While Sherlock still had on his dress pants and button down, he had removed his jacket a while ago. Molly was down to a white t-shirt, which clung to her body in all the right places (which was really a misnomer because it implied there were wrong places on her body, which he was quite certain there were not) and a typical Molly ugly, oversized peasant skirt. The white cotton material of her top was plastered to her body and her skin glowed with a light layer of sweat.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate on other things – anything really – that might focus his attention on something other than Molly. He had tried to enter his mind palace, but for the life of him he couldn't concentrate. Because the last thing he needed to think about was a sweaty, hot, wet, Molly Hooper...

"Hello? Anybody home?"

"What?" Sherlock's eyes snapped open.

"Were you even listening to me?" Molly asked.

"Of course."

"Even though I'm pretty sure you're lying I'll be nice and repeat what I said. I talked to the hospital maintenance supervisor and he said they should probably get us out in about an hour, but don't be surprised if the emergency lights go on and off, it's nothing to worry about. Oh, and the elevator might jerk a bit, but apparently that's also nothing to worry about either," she explained.

Molly was trying to remain calm. It wasn't that she was claustrophobic or anything; it was that she was petrified that at any minute she would lose all self-respect and simply throw herself at Sherlock. Maybe it was the heat, or a trick of the emergency lights because every now and then she would catch Sherlock looking at her with…lust? She was probably way off base, because Sherlock didn't flirt with her unless he was trying to get something he wanted and Molly couldn't figure out what he would have to gain by flirting with her trapped in an elevator. It wasn't like she knew how to get the blasted thing moving again and was keeping the information from him. Molly felt the heat of a blush creep from her breasts to her face. But then again she always blushed whenever she spent too much time thinking about Sherlock (it's not like they were fantasies or anything – okay damn it, they were fantasies). But they were her fantasies and if she wanted to imagine Sherlock being head over heels in lust with her, then so be it. Who was it hurting? Besides herself? No one. Because really, this gorgeous man could have whoever he wanted, and the last 5 years had shown quite clearly that he didn't want her.

With a shake of her head, Molly resolved not to spend another minute thinking about what would never be. The best course of action would be to take a seat on the floor and wait for hospital maintenance to reset the power freeing them from their overheated prison.

Molly took two steps before the elevator jerked violently, sending her sprawling to the floor. Fortunately, her fall was cushioned by landing on 170 pounds of lean muscle.

"Sherlock! Oh my god! Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware that she was straddling Sherlock, and either his wallet or his belt buckle was pressing against her damp underwear.

Sherlock let out a low groan.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?" Molly asked, panic apparent in her voice. When the elevator had moved all the emergency lights had gone out so Molly couldn't see any damage she may have caused him in the fall.

"Don't move." She felt his hands push down on her shoulders.

Suddenly Molly felt Sherlock's belt buckle move beneath her and…

Oh!

Oh My!

Oh My God!

That wasn't a belt buckle at all.

"Sherlock?" There was no way Sherlock had an erection. He was gay or asexual. And even if he wasn't gay there was no way he had an erection because of her. For The Woman? Yes. For little Mousey Molly? Never!

"Sherlock? Are you..? What is that…" She trailed off, not knowing exactly how to finish her sentence. She was happy it was completely dark in the elevator so he couldn't see the hot blush across her cheeks.

"I know you work with dead people Molly, but you did go to medical school where I believe that priapism was covered in at least one of your classes," he bit off.

"Yes, of course that topic was covered, although rare post-mortem erections do occur I've never…"

"Molly! Do shut up!"

"Sorry!" she apologized, "Do you want me to get up?"

"No" he groaned, and pushed down on her shoulders, forcing his erection against her wet centre.

"Oh…" She couldn't help herself from grinding down into his lap. After all this time, there was no way she could pretend that she didn't want his man and, judging by the large erection she was currently sitting on, the feeling was mutual.

A low growl emanated from Sherlock's throat as he tangled one hand in Molly's hair drawing her down towards his face. He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, the pressure light at first, teasing her with soft kisses and gentle licks of his tongue. She wasn't sure how long they remained that way, kissing, nibbling each other's mouth, fondling one another over their clothes. Sherlock's hands were running down her spine, over her ass and down over her legs.

Finally his hands came back up her body and he cupped her breasts, teasing and plucking at her nipples through her bra and white cotton t-shirt until they were hard peaks. Only then, did he lean down and suck one rigid tip through the cotton into his mouth. She arched her back as he bit down lightly. Moisture seeped into her panties and actual tremors shook her body. He slid one hand under her shirt and into her bra, tweaking her other nipple with his thumb and forefinger. All the while, he continued to torture the first breast with tiny pulls and mini love bites. Soon she was writhing against his erection and feeling an ever-increasing arousal beating at her harder and faster. He continued to pinch with his hand and bite with his teeth until white-hot bursts of lights exploded around her. He grabbed her hips and held her tight, keeping his cock pressed against her as she came.

When she finally regained her breath, Molly decided she was tired of being a passive participant. She trailed her fingers up Sherlock's chest, his throat, and his jaw, until she found his lips. She slowly nipped at his bottom lip and shifted her hips to rub his cock against her rapidly dampening knickers.

Seemingly unwilling to let Molly be the aggressor, Sherlock slid his fingers against her wet panties. Molly gasped and ground her hips against his hand in a desperate attempt to create some friction. The last section of Molly's brain capable of rationale thought supposed she ought to be embarrassed at how wet she was, but she simply didn't care.

After a few minutes of Sherlock playing with her swollen folds, Molly couldn't take it anymore.

"Sherlock, please no more teasing," Molly begged.

Sherlock took pity on her highly aroused state and moved his fingers from her folds, down over her clit and against the wetness below it.

She was moaning loudly at the brief touch, the soft mewling noises almost sending Sherlock over the edge. "God, I love hearing the sounds you make. I want to feel you come."

He kept rubbing against her the whole time he spoke. Slowly he pushed her down on the floor of the elevator, pushed up her skirt and took off her knickers. His mouth followed his hand, trailing a path down her flat stomach, kissing the skin along the place where her thigh met her legs. Finally, she sighed in relief as he lowered his head and placed his lips on her clit, drawing the tight bud into his mouth and suckling hard. She cried out and thrust her hips forward. Grabbing her waist to steady her, he kept up the pressure, somehow knowing exactly what she liked and needed most – which really shouldn't surprise her, he was Sherlock Holmes: he was great at everything. He ran his tongue along her outer lips, teasing her until she begged for more. He continued to lick, tease, nibble until she came apart, her second orgasm of the night hitting hard and fast.

After finally catching her breath, Molly slowly rose to stand on shaky legs and removed her top, bra and finally her skirt. She then knelt beside Sherlock on the floor. She could hear the rustle of material indicating Sherlock had used the same time to remove his pants. Molly reached over to touch his thigh, sliding her fingers up until she found his hand. Somehow, despite what they had already done, holding Sherlock's hand seemed far more intimate to Molly. In return, Sherlock placed a gentle kiss on the palm of her hand and held it tightly against his chest, letting Molly know in his own way that what was happening between them was more than just pent-up lust.

Eventually, Molly let go of Sherlock's hand and let hers continue its journey down his body until she found his bare cock. Sherlock took in a sharp breath as she wrapped her hand around him. She continued to run her hand up and down him softly, feeling his hardness. He groaned as she let her thumb brush over his tip, touching the cool wetness there. Suddenly she was overcome by the desire to know exactly what he tasted like.

Leaning down Molly curled her tongue around the head of his cock and gently scraped her teeth across the head of it. Although she might not have a lot of experience with men, thanks to the many years she spent at medical school Molly knew that the head of the penis was where all the nerve endings were. She continued up and down his cock, kissing and licking as she went.

Even though she was on her knees with Sherlock's cock in her mouth, Molly had never felt so powerful and dominant in her life. She varied her rhythm, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. She opened her mouth as wide as she could and attempted to pull as much of him in as possible. Sherlock's cock was thick and round and she delighted in hearing him gasp and sigh above her. She sped up and felt his thigh muscles tense. She glanced up and even through the darkness she could tell his eyes were closed.

She grabbed one of Sherlock's hands and placed it on top of her head. She felt his fingers push through her hair. She was pulling back and forth, but he had his hand in her hair and it felt like he was the one who'd forced her to her knees. Molly was sucking and gulping air and going out of her mind with desire. She moved her hand between her legs and flicked her fingers over her clit, every jolt like an electrical surge through her. She could hear Sherlock groaning over her own thudding heart and she knew he was close to coming.

Unable to handle another minute of foreplay, Sherlock pulled Molly off his cock, and changed their position so he could move in between her thighs. He leaned down, his cock nudging against her as she moaned out his name. She arched her hips up making his cock slip into her a tiny bit. He chuckled at her impatience and groaned as he pushed in fully. Sherlock leaned down onto his forearms and brought his lips back to Molly's before pulling out and thrusting softly back in. She whimpered a little with each push. In desperation, she raised her knees, pulling him farther into her and he picked up the rhythm, in and out, his sole focus on the intensity of feeling she inspired in him. Harder, faster, she met him thrust for thrust, her sexy, mewling sounds increasing every time their bodies joined. Sherlock lowered his head, taking her lips in a sloppy kiss. Her sex clenched him, milking him tighter.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Touch yourself, Molly."

She immediately did as she was told, running her hand down in between the two of them, finding her clit.

"Come for me, Molly."

"Oh, Sherlock…" She gasped as the tremors engulfed her. Sherlock kept thrusting hard and fast as she arched her hips up into him.

"Sherlock," she groaned in a strangled whisper before sinking back into the floor.

"God, Molly…" Sherlock panted against her ear. His hips hastened and then froze, his cock buried deep inside her. His strangled groan of her name made her heart swell with affection. He stiffened and shuddered, imploding inside and out. He came, the release harder than he could ever remember it being in the past.

He collapsed on top of Molly with a long happy sounding sigh and they stayed that way, tangled in each other's arms for a long while.

At this point, neither of them cared if they were ever rescued from this elevator.


End file.
